By Daniel Vlasaty

Living in Chicago, I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with hobos. (Although, by Kyle Starks’s definition they would technically be bums, since they neither work nor travel). I’ve worked in social services for years, specifically in the treatment of substance abuse, and I’ve even come to know some hobos, or bums, or tramps, or whatever the hell you want to call them. (I just call them people, but that’s besides the point). I’ve helped them get sober, and get jobs, and get housing. And while I think that is important work, it is in no way as fun or funny or amazing as Rock Candy Mountain. But this isn’t a book about homeless junkies that frequent one of Chicago’s many methadone clinics. It’s a book about hobos riding the rails and running from the devil and looking for a mythological Rock Candy Mountain. And this is my review of the third issue, I guess.